


Lost In The Woods

by soyforramen



Category: Archie Comics, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, or a series of loosely connected drabbles (not a drabble!) that have a thread of a plot between them, the urban fantasy that exploded out of the bughead drabble challenge, vampiers and witches and weres oh my!, with an additional cast of...everyone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 20,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26571160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soyforramen/pseuds/soyforramen
Summary: When Archie Andrews goes missing, his best friend is on the case.  What he doesn't know is that this disappearance is one of many that threaten the underground and his very existence as a vampire.Betty Cooper, witch extraordinaire, is sent by the Council of Seven to find her missing sister.  While she doesn't know where that will lead her, she does know she won't be the only one searching.
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 37
Kudos: 9
Collections: 8th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees





	1. Graduation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Raptorlily (raptorlilian)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raptorlilian/gifts).



It didn’t really matter, he reminded himself. It was just college graduation. And it wasn’t as if he’d be able to use the degree, being a vampire and, oh, right, majoring in Victorian Lit. Not much of a market for vampires who fit the Byronic tropes, after all.

Jughead waited in the arena lobby, hoping to see a hint of flaming red hair or over worn flannel. Happy families swarmed around him, their emotions palpable and overwhelming. Any other time he’d have been bowled over by the sheer force of emotions surrounding him, the smell of life thick on his tongue. Instead he was focused more on his own dreary thoughts. 

He’d finally graduated after six long years of late nights, early mornings, and a lot of odd jobs to pull together the money for the ridiculously priced classes. And he was alone again without anyone there to cheer him on. It was something he’d grown accustomed to - first his parents, then his sister, then Toni. But it still stung when the two people who’d always been there for him, no matter the circumstances, were missing.

Besides, it wasn’t as if he could have done this himself. Not without -

His junky old phone chimed and he answered, turning into an alcove to block some of the noise.

“Jug.”

Fred’s familiar voice was soothing, enough to quell Jughead’s morose thoughts. That was dashed quickly when Fred continued, his voice tight with worry.

“You haven’t seen Archie, have you?”

Worry grew, its small, biting teeth cutting through Jughead’s stomach.

“No, I thought he was with you guys. He hasn’t responded to any of my texts.”

“Mine either.” 

Jughead could imagine Fred pacing the floor and rubbing at his forehead. A single father, he’d never been comfortable without hearing from Archie. And when Jughead unofficially joined the fold, Fred had worried just as much, if not more, about him.

“He’s done this before,” Fred continued. “But never for this long.”

“He texted me a few nights ago. He’d mentioned a club, but -“

“Did he mention the name?”

Jughead shook his head, guilt over not getting more information. “No, just that he’d met someone.”

“Thanks, Jug. And I’m sorry we missed it.”

“I would have missed it too if I’d known -“

“No, I didn’t want you missing your big day. I’m sure I’m just being a worry wart and Archie’s off somewhere chasing some girl …” Fred trailed off.

The silence between them stretched on as families posed for pictures and made plans for lunch. In any other reality that could have been him. His parents, smiling and proud, JB teasing him. But in this one he only had himself, and the Andrews to rely on.

“What can I do?”

“Not much right now. Archie will call,” Fred said with a certainty that felt forced. “Rain check on the celebration?”

Jughead agreed, and they hung up, each promising to let the other know when - if - they heard from him. He wandered around after that, lost in his thoughts. Archie was a rover, sure. But he’d never leave like that, not without letting Fred or Jughead know where he was going. Werewolves were pack animals and they were always in  
constant communication with the other. If one went silent, something had to be wrong.

It occurred to him, as he wandered through the arena, that there was one person who could track Archie down. Someone who owed him, majorly. The same person he’d sworn never to talk to for the rest of his life.

With nothing else to go one, and trusting that Fred had tracked down every lead, it was a sacrifice Jughead had to make.

His phone rang through to voicemail and he cringed at the sugary sweet message. Everything about it made him want to hang up. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t do this alone; if anyone could find Archie, it was Jughead. They’d grown up together and knew each other better than their own self.

It was a self-soothing lie and he knew it.

The message cut off and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Veronica. It’s Jughead. I’m calling in that favor. Meet me at the diner off East Riverdale, at sun down.”

Now all he had left to do was wait.


	2. Cartoons

Betty sat on the stiff, old couch and listened to Tom and Jerry echo throughout the living room. A spring poked into her thigh as she waited in Esther Crabapple’s home. Mattie and Sam chased each other through the house, their shrieks sending Betty’s nerves even higher. She’d never been summoned to the High Priestess’ house before. The Council, after all, tended to keep their private matters separate from the coven.

Mattie tripped and cried out, her wails sending her brother running. Betty ignored them both; the last time she’d tried to help either child she’d nearly gotten a finger bitten off.

Penelope steeped into the room and sneered at the children. Dressed in black lace she cut the modern day image of a witch. Proper, prim, and not to be fucked with. 

“You,” she said, pointing at Betty.

Betty stood and followed her aunt through the small suburban, three bed, two bath, avocado green and lemon yellow house. As they neared the back of the house, they came to a shut door. Locked, no doubt, as all witch’s conservatories were. Penelope knocked three times. A knock in reply, and Penelope strode through the door. Betty did her best to keep her chin up as she followed her aunt’s lead into the belly of the beast.

The room turned out to be a sunroom larger than any other room in the house and was filled to the ceiling with plants. Betty had to step over several pots (aloe, for healing; cinnamon for shielding; lavender for purification) to reach the table where sat three of the seven council members. Seven only in name; six during her mother’s absence. 

A cup of tea sat in front of each chair and Betty settled into the only empty seat. She played with the teaspoon, but didn’t reach for the teapot. As only a member, she knew to defer to the older, allegedly wiser, witches in front of her.

Mary gave her a kind smile and picked up the teapot. “You’re probably wondering why we called you here,” she said as she poured the rich, red-brown tea into Betty’s cup. In turn, she poured the rest of the pungent liquid into the other cups. 

The smell of roibus laced with juniper leaf and licorice root tickled her nose and she knew this was less about her own dabblings in questionable magic, and more about something that the council themselves didn’t have the resources to tackle. Betty brought the cup to her lips and drank, holding the liquid on her tongue until she was certain she’d identified each ingredient. Dutifully, she finished the cup and set it down on the delicate black and white china.

“It’s your sister,” Penelope drolled. Never one to waste time on polite formalities, she dropped three sugar cubes into her cup. With a flick of her wrist the teaspoon glided through the tea in a counter-clockwise motion. 

“We think she’s in trouble,” Mary said delicately. She picked up her cup and sipped at the liquid, her nose scrunching up at the taste. “We haven’t heard from her since last May.”

“But that means she missed -“

“Two solstices,” Hermione said. She peered at Betty over the rim of her teacup, scrutinizing and cataloging every move and word.

The sandwich Betty forced herself to eat before coming here roiled in her stomach. No witch missed either solstice, not if they wanted to keep the power of the coven with them. Not if they wanted to keep living.

“Have you heard from her recently?” Mary asked. Her eyes, while much kinder than her more cynical sisters, searched for any signs of deception in Betty’s face.

Betty shook her head, her mind already running through every interaction she’d had with Polly since…

“No, not since she followed Evelyn.” The words felt like cotton in her mouth.

“And your mother?”

Penelope snorted and drained her teacup. “Another lost cause.”

Hermione sent her a sharp look, but remained silent.

“No,” Betty said, her mind searching every possible avenue for where either might have gone. She’d already checked their local haunts many times over, but this was something entirely different. “Not since she left with Polly.”

There were the dreams, though. The ones about a narcissistic golden eagle flying high above the heads of sheep, encouraging them to higher glory. But the sheep did not see the cliff ahead; the eagle most certainly did. But surely that had nothing to do with..

“I was afraid of this,” Mary sighed.

“They made their choice,” Hermione snapped. “Now we must make ours.”

Betty tilted her head and stared at the older witch. Hermione was prudent with her words, pruning and sheering them before they were ever spoken. “What choice?”  
The three women shared a look.

“It appears that they’ve decided to follow… a different path,” Mary said, parsing her words as if looking for a deeper meaning.

“But, Evie -“

Mary shook her head. She took Betty’s hand and squeezed it before continuing. “They might have agreed with Evelyn’s opinions, but it wasn’t her they were following.”

Betty’s heart dropped. “Who then?”

“We’re not sure. But they’re not one of us.”

Betty chewed her lip. While Evelyn had split from the coven ten years ago, the rift hadn’t been anything more than a disagreement of how best to use magic. Evelyn had somehow convinced herself and a few others that magic should be used for good, but Betty couldn’t help but wonder for who’s good. Despite her pushing, only a handful of witches had followed Evelyn’s path, and even they made sure to return on the solstice like clockwork to restore their magic. 

Just as a fish needed water, witches needed the solstices. Every witch had been born with a limited amount of magic, some naturally having more than others, that had to be restored by the sun’s yearly journey. Once that magic was used up, it was gone forever.

“Polly -“

“Has disappeared. Likely after some man again,” Penelope said, the disdain dragging through her every word. “It’s not her we’re concerned with.”

Betty’s fingernails bit deep into her skin to keep her tongue still. How could they not be concerned about Polly? She was one of them, born and raised. And what about Evie? How could they not care about their own adopted daughter, the one they’d groomed from childhood to replace the High Priestess herself?

“It’s not that we’re not worried about the others,” Mary said. She shot Penelope a look laced with warning; at least Betty wasn’t the only one wholly concerned with power. “But without your mother at this next solstice… Without her we won’t be able to do our duty to the coven. I don’t know how much your mother told you, but the council binds the coven. And in turn, the coven binds us. Our magic cannot be bound without the seven, and if we cannot bind it -“

“We die,” Hermione said icily. Her face showed no emotion, but Betty shivered at the force of her words.

“Where do I start looking?” Betty asked. 

“Your sister is probably the best place to start,” Mary said. She tucked a flyaway hair behind Betty’s ear and smiled. “You’ll know where to go from there.”

Betty couldn’t help but smile back. Mary had always been her favorite on the council. She’d always seemed to care more about the coven than about their magic, a truly rare quality among these women.

“And whatever you do, don’t got the Vixen’s Den,” Penelope snapped. 

Her iron clad words held a weight to them, one that could only be had through scrying. Penelope’s scrying was unparalleled, and Betty knew better than to doubt her. But the words flitted through her mind as more pressing issues as to where to go and who to call began crowding her thoughts.

Dismissed, Betty stood and made her way through the house. Already compiling a mental list of everything she would need to do, there would be few doors locked to her with the coven behind her. After all, witches were practically revered in the underground, especially when help was needed. And help was always needed in the underground.


	3. Lost In The Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or the chapter that started it all

Strobe lights twisted the air around him, bass jumping in time with writhing bodies. Their fae blood tempted his inner demons, rich in magic though low in iron. He wasn’t here for that, however; he’d fed earlier in the night. Anything more was gluttony, pleasure for pleasure’s sake. 

The song switched to a new one that sounded no different than the one before. Any faery club, any faery thing, was beneath his sensibilities. The unnecessary lights and sounds dulled his senses, an ineffective attempt to draw him into their thrall. The Woods was the last place Jughead would ever willing go, but tonight had little to do with his preferences. This sort of place was more Archie’s scene, the last club he’d been at little over a week ago.

As the crowd shifted around him he scanned every face, looking for the one he’d long since memorized. It wasn’t until he reached the bar that he recognized a high blonde ponytail and conservative dress. She turned and he realized it was her. The last person who’d been seen with Archie before he’d -

Light caught the long, chandelier earrings and Jughead narrowed his eyes. Charms, each inscribed with a different rune. He snarled; Cheryl hadn’t mentioned she was a witch. As loathe as he was to approach anyone who dealt in magic, Jughead had come too far to change course.

A seat opened on her left and he sat down. The witch turned and eyed him, her eyes lingering on his lips. He smiled, letting his unnaturally long fangs catch her eye. Unimpressed, she looked up into his eyes. He willed her to go outside, his mind urging her to leave. 

When he frowned at his failed attempt, she laughed, the sound lost to the rhythm around them. She leaned close enough he could see the blood beneath her cheeks and smell the lavender and rosemary on her skin. Jughead bit his lip to keep from leaning closer.

“Are you lost?”

The potion smeared on her skin had pulled all reason from his mind and he scowled. Anger flushed through him that he’d been bewitched so easily.

“Where’s Archie Andrews?’ he yelled over the music.

Her lips pursed in confusion and she shook her head, charms glinting in the light. “Who?”


	4. My Pet Platypus

Jughead stared at the strange creature in the tank.It stared back at him through beady black eyes as it floated on the surface of the water.He couldn’t be sure, but Jughead had a strange feeling that this hybrid creature knew more than it was letting on.In the dark room it was lit up by heat lamps that threw off an eerie orange glow that made the water around it look like fire.Any creature that survived looking like the bastard child of a duck and a beaver could not be trusted.

Behind him, Betty and Dr. Curdle wrapped up their strange sort of pleasantries - she offering insight on new theories and experiments in magic, he calmly explaining his own newly learned techniques when it came to interring the undead.It seemed a strange sort of relationship, on that Jughead was inherently suspicious of despite Betty’s assurances that Dr. Curdle was indeed a friend of the family.Her assurances, as pleasant sounding as they may be, did nothing to allay his suspicions though. 

After all, it was hard not to be suspicious of a man whose being gave off none of the usual markers of humanity or the undead.No scent.No heartbeat.No breath.If the doctor hadn’t been standing in front of him, Jughead would have believed he didn’t exist. 

It wasn’t as if he were dangerous so much as something different.Not of this world, perhaps.The word eldritch scratched around the corners of Jughead’s mind, but he dismissed those as he stared at the creature in the tank.A rare creature evolved to thrive in one of the harshest lands on earth, perhaps Dr. Curdle was just the same.Something whose existence would be dismissed out of hand, too fantastical to be real.

Much like vampires and witches and werewolves, he supposed.

“Ah, I see you’ve met my colleague Gary,” Dr. Curdle said in his strangely accented voice.

Jughead straightened.“Gary?”

“Yes.”

Dr. Curdle smiled pleasantly enough, and Jughead wondered whether it would be prudent to ask for clarification.Was the platypus named after a former colleague or _was_ the platypus his former colleague.The doctor blinked with two distinct sets of eyelids and the shock of it banished all questions from his mind.

Betty stepped in quickly to direct the conversation back to the matter at hand.

“Dr. Curdle, would you mind repeating what you told me on the phone?I just want to make sure our notes are correct.”

He turned to Betty and smiled, his cheeks stretched just enough past normal to make Jughead’s skin crawl.

“Of course.Several of our peers have been brought in with missing pieces.”

As they waited for him to continue, the water filter burbled behind them.Jughead couldn’t help but wonder if they’d stepped into a black hole that stretched time into infinite.

“Such as …” Betty trailed off, the smile on her face encouraging.

“One of our werewolf friends -“

The words gave Jughead a mild panic attack, and Betty laid a hand on his arm.She shook her head and muttered a name he’d never heard of.

“-was brought to me a few days ago, curiously without his right lung, liver, and pancreas.Would you like to see?”

In a strange sort of eagerness, Betty nodded. Dr. Curdle nodded, his every movement clinical and detached and stilted, and lead them through a door to a mortuary room. 

“Please forgive the mess, I’ve had quite a few visitors in the last few days.”

Try as he might, Jughead couldn’t see more than a set of tweezers slightly out of place.True, he’d never been in a morgue before, but everything was kept in clinical precision.He glanced at Betty only to find her fully focused on the wall of morgue lockers in front of them.With a sharp, practiced pull, Dr. Curdle pulled open the shelf and slid the body out. 

It was covered modestly with a plain white sheet, only the grey shoulders and pallid head above it visible.The blood had been drained from its body leaving behind an ashen shell.There was something to the unnatural, antiseptic environment that made Jughead uneasy.He’d had seen plenty of dead bodies before, dead by his own hands and by others’, but seeing one under the harsh, florescent lights, the smell of formaldehyde around them, felt invasive and impolite. 

“This is a most interesting one, of the faery folk I’m told,” Dr. Curdle said as he walked around the body. 

In death the fae’s vanity charms had evaporated, leaving behind the natural split wood skin that stretched too tight around its skull.Charming in life, it was terrifying in death.It was no wonder people spoke of demons and goblins.

Undisturbed by the sight, Dr. Curdle lifted the sheet to reveal the rest of the body.It’s torso had been split into three sections, each neatly held open by a pair of metal clamps.From where he stood, Jughead could make out the ribs, a strange yellow blob, and just at the edge the still slowly pulsing heart.He spun away from the sight, the little blood still in him from last night threatening to come back up.Betty, though, held no such qualms and stood next to the good doctor to peer closer into the cavity.

“Despite the still beating heart, I can assure you she is most certainly dead.Quite fascinating how the heart persists even after. While they aren’t human, per se - who in this room is,” Dr Curdle paused to chuckle at his own joke, “they do share much of the same anatomy as humans.At least where the internal organs are concerned.Quite expected when one takes into account the medieval ages and the dalliances of -”

Jughead slouched towards the wall and fought to keep upright as Dr. Curdle prattled on about the fae’s predilection for human company.With more than a hint of black humor, Jughead couldn’t help but chuckle.The witch who made healing potions and light spells had no trouble taking detailed notes while staring into the body of a corpse.Meanwhile the vampire, a creature who lives off the life of others, is unable to stand the sight of a still beating heart.

“Do you see it?” Dr. Curdle asked excitedly.

His tone caught Jughead’s attention and he knew better than to look. 

“I’m afraid that might have been a trick question,” he said.With a snap of latex he slipped on a pair of gloves and reached into the cavity.Something squelched and Jughead squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Under here is normally where they keep the appendix -“

“The source of their magic?” Betty asked.

Dr. Curdle nodded and let out a small grunt.Another wet sound came and Jughead slouched further down the wall. 

“Precisely, but as you can see -“

Betty gasped and Jughead cracked his eyes open to look at her.Shock was written across her slightly open mouth and wide eyes, and he was tempted to look for himself until his stomach gave another gurgle. 

“Nothing.”

“Even stranger is that the liver, normally here, is also missing.The tissue around both show signs of natural healing-”

“Indicating that it was done long before their death,” Betty said.

She hummed and continued her inspection of the cadaver, intent on getting as much information as possible.Jughead knew he should be doing the same - often their notes improved when they went back through the day - but on this he trusted Betty’s instinct more than his own gag reflex. 

“Can you think of any reason why they might be missing?”

Dr. Curdle stared at the fluorescent lights overhead a moment.“Liver, kidneys, lungs, and other various organs have been known to be missing from certain… suspect corpses that have come through here.Common among those humans less fortunate who decide to ‘donate’ body organs when bills come due.”

“But have you seen this in the underground?” Jughead asked. 

It was one thing for humans to resort to carving themselves up and another altogether for the others to do so.Though they might have their many problems, there was always good paying work of some sort in the underground, plenty enough to retire on.You just had to have the stomach for it.

“Not until very recently.”

“When was the first?” Betty asked, her pencil raised and ready.

“Last month, as a matter of fact.” 

Now finished with his macabre show and tell, Dr. Curdle replaced the white sheet as carefully as if he were tucking in a small child.With a low rattle the metal tray slid neatly back into the wall.

“Are you the only mortician who works on… us?” 

Jughead suspected that her hesitation was less from a witch’s natural self-importance than it was from the strange creature that stood before them.He’d been in Dr. Crudle’s presence for over an hour and Jughead had yet to discern what exactly he was. It was clear what he wasn’t though, and that alone was enough to make him afraid.

“As far as I know, yes.”

Now with the body gone, and along with it the overwhelming smell of formaldehyde, Jughead was able to stand.He opened up his own notebook and flipped through the pages.

“Do you have any idea why those organs might be missing?” Betty asked, beating him to it.

“For the same reason as the humans,” Dr. Curdle said with a shrug.His shoulders extended a hair too far to be normal. 

“Money?”

“Yes.”

Betty chewed her lip. 

“What about the appendix?It’s useless in humans, can the fae transfer -“

“Transplant,” Dr. Curdle corrected.

“-transplant those?”

“Not as far as I’m aware.”

“What about using it in spells?” Jughead asked.

Betty stared at him, her lips thin.She’d already shown how sore the subject of false rumors were about witches, but thankfully she held her tongue.

“It’s possible.The appendix produces quite a bit of magic while the faery is alive; however I’m unsure of its efficacy after removed from the body.From my understanding, magic is more personal then general.A welder using such a magic, especially one stolen from a body, might themselves be on the receiving end of a very nasty defensive mechanism.”

“Like the barbs of a platypus,” Jughead said. 

“Exactly.”

“What about if its given freely?” Betty asked.The line of her jaw was still tense, but thankfully she was no longer shooting daggers at Jughead.

“I suppose,” Dr. Curdle trailed off. 

The clock on the wall ticked by and Jughead found himself once more in the syrupy molasses of a black hole.Dr. Curdle, meanwhile, stood completely still.Even with his sharp eyes, Jughead could find no difference between that of Dr. Curdle and the body he’d since put away.Ghouls were uncommon, and even so Dr. Curdle’s movements were far smoother and more coordinated than those unwilling victims who roamed the streets in the name of their masters. 

“Magic given freely, perhaps even magic sold, would, I suspect, respond just the same as the magic you sell.”

Betty’s nose crinkled and she shook her head. “I don’t sell magic.”

“You sell those marbles,” Jughead reminded her. 

She pursed her lips but said nothing more.He wondered if he’d struck a nerve, and if he had had he done so purposefully?To push her away before he was pulled in? 

“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Jughead asked, more to get his mind off his own introspection and what it might mean.

“Not that I can think of,” Dr. Curdle said. 

Betty pulled a card out and scribbled a number on it.She handed it to Dr. Curdle who slipped it into his apron.

“If something else comes up, please -“

“You’ll be the first one I call.Now, if you’ll excuse me I have another appointment.” 

Jughead and Betty made their way back onto the street, the light dim compared to the surgical lights of the mortuary.Around them the streets were filled with people, underground and human, who had no idea the disturbing implications of what they’d just seen.It was the first Jughead had ever thought of what happened to a fae body after death.But the more troubling aspect of it was more of what had been done to the body before death.

A fae willingly giving up their magic was just as improbably as a fish learning to fly.And yet -

Betty’s stomach growled and she blushed. 

“I guess breakfast didn’t last as long as I thought.”

Jughead’s own stomach, still sore from the morgue, twisted in on itself to hide away from even the thought of food.A rare occurrence considering his normally voracious appetite.But when Betty mentioned a cafe down the street, he agreed readily.And if the omelette and French toast she’d ordered made even a vampire green, Jughead didn’t mention it.


	5. Chatroom

“They responded.”

Betty surged forward, the coffee in her hand barely surviving the movement. She crowded next to him on the couch their knees knocking together. Jughead instinctively moved away and rebalanced the distance between them. There were rules about these things. Rules that polite society dictated, and vampires were sticklers for polite society. Something to do with longevity, he supposed. 

This witch seemed to throw all those rules out the window. Perhaps the covens had different rules, but regardless. There were rules. 

She ignored, or perhaps didn’t even recognize, his distaste, her eyes fixed on the screen. 

“Tell them I’m Polly’s sister,” she ordered in response to the on screen question.

Jughead rolled his eyes but did as told. Bossy as she was, her ideas had worked so far. Well, all except the one with the ice cream and motor oil. He’d never get that stain out of his hat. 

A thinking bubble came up on screen, then disappeared, as the person on the other end wrote and deleted their message. For a long time the screen was blank and he let out a heavy sigh. Betty stared at the screen and worried at her bottom lip. 

She smelled like coffee now, the lavender and rosemary long gone. Cheap, burnt coffee from an overpriced cafe. Nothing like what he’d drunk when he was alive. It had been one of his vices, the one thing he was willing to pay far too much of his precious earnings for. He wondered what it would taste like now, whether it would be as bitter as it smelled, or whether the taste of her lips -

The computer dinged and he shook himself out of it. These strange feelings bothered him; the sooner they figured this out the quicker he could go back to his mostly solitary life and away from this witch trying to draw him under her spell.

She glanced at him, waiting for his reaction. “Well?”

He shrugged and leaned back against the couch trying to discreetly read the screen. 

“Anyplace we suggest they’ll likely turn down unless it’s clandestine. If this is who really is behind the disappearances they’re not going to want to take the chance of getting caught.”

Betty’s face fell and she pulled at the sleeves of her sweater. It stung to see her like that, and he reminded himself he was here for Archie, not some strange puppy crush. 

Wait.

“The South Side park, just off of West 9.”

She glanced up at him, a moue on her face that made him want -

“Isn’t that were territory?”

He nodded. 

“And you’re …?”

He nodded again. “It’s … complicated.” She gave him a look, one he was quickly learning she was filing information away for later, but thankfully didn’t ask anything else.

“Noon, tomorrow at the abandoned parking structure,” she said.

Jughead’s fingers flew over the keyboard and, with a final glance at Betty, the message was sent. This time, the answer came right away.

They both breathed a sigh of relief at the response. For the first time in a month, the tension eased from Jughead’s body and he allowed himself a moment of relaxation. 

“So, you and werewolves?”

He rolled his eyes and stood. “Noon, tomorrow,” he reminded her before walking out of the cafe.


	6. Heat Wave

"You’re a witch, aren’t you?” Jughead panted. 

Betty rolled her eyes and changed out her chalk. Lavender did well enough for protection, but it was hemlock that would pack the punch they needed. 

“We’re in a boiler room, so no. I can’t. Unless you want half the apartment building coming down to complain abo -“

He brushed his hand against her shoulder and she stopped short, shuddering at the cold touch that ate through her cardigan.

“Someone’s coming.”

“Distract them,” she hissed. Her grip on the chalk tightened and she retraced her lines mentally. “If even one line is wrong we all go up in flames hotter than the furnace.”

He curled his lip and turned towards the door. Betty watched from the corner of his eye as his entire being shifted. Standing straighter, a half smile on his face, even she wasn’t immune to the waves of charm rolling off him. Even the charms on her person did little to dampen the hypnotic pull of a fully fed vamp.

“Damn mosquitoes,” she muttered, her cheeks flushed. 

She breathed in to steady her hand and began to set in the fire element. Where Polly was, she’d better be grateful for all Betty had put up with to find her.


	7. A Missing Scene

Whatever they’d meant to do here, whoever they’d meant to interrogate, all meaning was long lost when they entered the Vixen’s Den. It was a bar run by a group of succubus’ (reformed, allegedly) that drew in all manner of people. Rumor said that it was the source of Jingle Jangle, the street drug that turned sex into an orgasmic ecstasy that lasted hours. 

Jingle Jangle was also the only strong link between the series of murders and disappearances that were plaguing the covens and, as it turned out, the wolf packs.

What started as a simple reconnaissance mission - to find out any information about Polly or Archie - quickly turned into a game that crossed every line Betty had set for herself. Whether it was the drinks, or the atmosphere, or the company, they’d barely sat down before Jughead’s hand was caressing her back. Another drink, courtesy of the bar, and she’d kissed him to her own own nervous delight.

A gasp escaped her lips as frigid fingers traced the protection runes across her thighs. Betty threaded her fingers through Jughead’s hair and shifted against the pleather booth. Around them the music shifted to a slower tempo and the entire club was draped in crimson light. 

As if spurred on by the mood change, Jughead nipped the skin along her neck and every inch of her skin caught fire. From any other partner it was foreplay, a promise of something more playful, more intimate. From a vampire, it was the request for a deadly invitation. 

Betty pulled him closer, using those stupid suspenders to pull his hips flush with hers. If her sisters found out she’d be disgraced and taken off the case. It would be a missing scene in the report, Betty promised herself. After all, who wanted to read how willing Mina was to Dracula’s advances?


	8. I'm Not Jealous

She wasn’t jealous.She couldn’t _be_ jealous.Betty Cooper did not _do_ jealous, especially not when it came to vampires she’d only known for a month.

And yet, it bothered her how close Toni and Jughead were.The casual glances, the inside jokes, the _hugging_.Ugh, if Betty weren’t careful, she’d turn out like her sister, chasing some incubus into the night only to return brokenhearted and bitter. 

It didn’t help how easily he’d turned on his charm - natural or supernatural though it may be, it was unnerving to see its effects on a grown woman.It was even more disturbing to watch how quickly the nurse responded to him.She was easily in her early sixties and yet she tittered on, fluttering her eyebrows like a schoolgirl and touching his arm ever so gently. 

His joke wasn’t even _funny_.

“Now remember, dear, no one but the doctors are allowed to see these.I could get in real trouble if anyone found out, the nurse - Rosemary, according to her nameplate - faux whispered as she leaned closer to Jughead to hand him the thick file.They were so close a puff of air would have brought them together in a kiss.

Jughead winked at her - _winked? What was he, eighty?_ \- and tapped the side of his nose.“Our little secret, Rosie.”

He handed the file off to Betty and shifted to lean against the counter, effectively blocking her out of his little tete-a-tete.

Well, Betty huffed.If he wanted to be like that.

She sulked past the hard plastic chairs of the records room and wandered further down the hallway into the bowels of the hospital.When she found a quiet spot, Betty opened up the folder.Glancing up every now and then to make sure she was still alone, she riffled through the papers of all the underground who’d been admitted to the hospital in the last three months.Even though it was after two in the morning, something in her gut warned her of imminent doom.Paranoid though she may be, shades and shadows had been growing at the corners of her sight, a portent that never turned out well for anyone. 

The papers were heavy with jargon, seemingly routine, but there was nothing about missing time, missing organs, or missing people.It wasn’t unusual for the underground to turn to human medicine.After all, most of all the major medical discoveries were made by witches or the odd beneficent fae.Betty glanced around once more and pulled out a thin disc in the shape of a four leaf clover and muttered the words she’d cobbled together long ago - Gaelic, Germanic, and Hindi - and cracked the charm over her head.It dissolved into dust and she let it fall across her head and shoulders.

One more turn and there at the far end of the hallway was a nurses station.Empty save for one sour looking man at the desk who most definitely did not want to be there.

“Excuse me,” Betty said with a smile.She forced every bit of her exasperation with Jughead into it and tried her most innocent face.“But the copier in Records isn’t working and Rosemary sent me -“

The nurse rolled his eyes and let out a deep sigh.“Just one copy?”

Betty nodded.“Yes, please.I’m sorry to trouble you, it’s just -“

He held up a hand, more interested in his phone than in her explanation.She gave him the file and watched as he disappeared into another door.Betty waited, worrying at her already ragged thumbnail.

Jughead had never acted like that with _her_.And they’d been intimate!Well, as intimate as one could be under the influence of a lust heightening potion (Cheryl had a strange sense of humor, according to Jughead).Even though the potions only enhanced the feelings on already had, Jughead hadn’t brought that night up since it had happened, almost as if he were trying to forget the whole thing. 

Perhaps he was trying to forget it.Despite the lore, male vampires normally lacked the necessary blood flow for certain acts.Feeding and abnormally warm temperatures could increase blood flow, as could certain spells, but -

The sound of shoes squeaking their way down the hallway sent a surge of panic through Betty.Swallowing it down, she smiled at the doctor and noted how his eyes lingered on her face. 

Then again, perhaps she just wasn’t Jughead’s type.Blonde, smart, and sport wasn’t really what those of the darker parts of the underground usually went for.( _Sporty_.Such a strange way to describe someone.Blonde and smart were descriptors, but _sporty_?) 

And it wasn’t as if Betty was short on suitors.So why in Gaia’s green earth was she _stuck_ on a stupid vampire who didn’t have a sense of humor and wasn’t all that nice to begin with?He was attractive, but every vampire was.It was just a part of their nature.And he certainly didn’t -

Betty almost jumped out of her skin as a stack of still warm papers slammed on the counter in front of her.The man smirked.

“Your files, _ma’m_.”

“Thanks,” she said, despite wanting to slip a pepper in the man’s coffee.“Have a good night.”

Walking back through the maze of hallways, Betty slipped into a bathroom.Making sure she was alone, Betty shoved the copy into her purse.With some effort, she slipped the strap over her shoulder.As she walked out she was reminded of her spell crafting classes that required her to carry giant tomes to every class.Somehow she managed to make it back to Jughead and _Rosemary_ without toppling over.

“Sorry it took so long!” Betty chirped.She set the folder onto the desk in front of Rosemary and let out a laugh.“I got lost on the way to the bathroom.”

Rosemary smiled patronizingly and took the folder from her.“It happens to the best of us, dear.I do hope you found out what you needed for your mother’s case.Your good friend Cody has been telling me about it.How tragic that they left a sponge _and_ a watch inside of her,” she said as she patted Jughead’s arm. 

He grinned and Betty wondered what part of the joke she was missing.

“Yes I did.You’ve been ever so helpful.” 

“Don’t mention it.You two stay out of trouble, and remember…”. Rosemary tapped the side of her nose and winked.

Disgustingly, Jughead mimicked her actions.It was enough to make Betty gag.Rosemary, however, giggled at the attention. 

Ready to be done with this, with _him_ , Betty headed towards the elevator.She punched at the button and tapped her foot.Betty knew she was being needlessly irritated with this whole thing - _still no polly still no answers stupid vampires and stupider succubi_ -

With his annoyingly long legs it didn’t take but a few seconds for Jughead to catch up with her.Betty shifted her weight away from him, wincing at the strain on her back.Without a word, he reached out and took the purse from her. 

“You’ll throw your back out like that.”

“Oh.”A beat, then she remembered her manners.“Thanks.”

He nodded and shoved his hands into his pockets.The arrival bell dinged and they stepped onto the elevator.As they neared the bottom, he said, “Wontons?”

A hint of a smile tickled Betty’s lips and she tried to remind herself of all the reasons why she shouldn’t be charmed by him.Just because he’d remembered that her favorite restaurant was near here even if he himself couldn’t eat human food -

“Sure.”


	9. Two Truths & A Lie

“Well?” 

The fae grinned, smug in its little game. 

Betty scowled at it and shifted against her bonds. There was little worse than fae - self-assured tricksters, liars, and thieves - and yet she’d had to deal with far too many of them to get to this point. If this is what it took to find Polly, she’d damn well better get more at Christmas than a hand-made scarf and a store bought card.

“Just tell me where my sister is, you weirdo.”

Reggie chuckled and leaned forward in his seat. He curled a lock of her ponytail around his finger, and Betty almost fell over trying to jerk away from him.

“Oh come on, Betts. I thought you enjoyed our tete-a-tetes.” 

“I don’t have time for this Reggie. Polly is missing.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Did you check with her new beau?”

Betty narrowed her eyes. “Polly hasn’t dated anyone since -“

He hummed. “I thought you two told each other everything.” 

Reggie examined his fingernails as the realization hit her. The late nights, sneaking out, hiding her phone, clandestine calls. It all made sense now why Polly had gone distant the month before her disappearance.

“That bitch,” she muttered, pained by her sister’s betrayal. Betty had done all this, asked favors from all her contacts, joined up with a vampire for Gaia’s sake, and all because Polly decided to go on a mini-honeymoon with some man!

They told each other everything, and Polly didn’t even hint that she was seeing someone. Secrets, lies, hopes, fears; nothing was unknown between them. Polly even knew about her unintelligible crush on Mary Shelley! 

With one single, huge, looming, omission, Polly had broken ties with her, casting her on the same level as their mother. They were sisters, in blood and magic. The whole coven was in uproar over her disappearance and yet - 

Reggie snapped to bring her attention back to him. He preened when he saw her turn towards him.

“You can stew later, Betty. I’m right in front of you, and I’d hate for you to lose this visual opportunity.”

She rolled her eyes but forced her indignation to the back of her mind. Reggie might be a swell enough guy, for a faery, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t the most narcissistic man she’d ever met.

“Fine. What else do you know about my sister.” She cut him off before he could be coy about fae rules. “And what do you want in return?”

He held up two fingers. “Two truths,” he paused to hold up one more finger on his other hand, “and a lie. I get to determine which is the lie. If I’m right, you stay here and entertain me for a while. If I’m wrong, I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Betty huffed, ready for this to be over with. She’d spent far too long here trying to assuage Reggie’s vanity and Jughead had probably gotten bored and wandered off by now. 

“Fine.”

“What’s your relationship with the odd-ball outside?”

“Business.”

Reggie raised an eyebrow and Betty fought back a groan. Of course that wouldn’t be enough. Fae were the biggest gossips in the underground that the appearance of anyone outside of their regular patterns drew the curiosity of all.

“His best friend went missing at the same time and same place my sister did, The Woods two weeks ago, and we’re trying to find them.”

Reggie seemed to accept that answer, mulling it over in his mind. “Truth. Question number two. How far have you two gone?”

Flashes of crimson light, teeth grazing her neck, early morning sunlight in an unfamiliar bed…

“We can’t stand each other to be in the same room. He’s almost bit me twice -“

“Kinky.”

“- and I tried to catch him on fire.”

Well, she didn’t try to catch him on fire. Not entirely. She’d warned Jughead three times not to cross the lines. 

Reggie mulled her answer over like a fine wine. Betty hadn’t quite followed the rules of the game; her answer wasn’t quite a lie, but it also wasn’t entirely the truth. 

“I’ll decide that one in a minute. Question three: When was the last time you thought of me naked?”

Betty’s cheeks flushed and she cursed herself for not seeing this coming. Her ex always had been fond of riling her up, but she didn’t think Reggie would take the opportunity to do so now. 

“Before we came to see you,” she blurted out, knowing it was a lie. 

She hadn’t thought about Reggie in any way other than an information source, not since her excursion into the Vixen’s Den. Whatever spell they’d put on her there, she hadn’t thought about Reggie until this morning. Even then he was just a means to an end. Any lurid thoughts she might have had ran towards the darker, colder side of the world. 

Still, Reggie seemed pleased with her answer. Ego stroked, he couldn’t help but smirk. “That’s the truth,” he said confidently.

The bindings around her fell away, and his face turned into the true mask of the fae. Elongated and wrinkled, it looked more like an old wooden mask than a creature claiming humanity. At the fear in her eyes he took a deep breath, his face returning to its normal handsome countenance.

“All right. A deal’s a deal. I’ll tell you what I know about your sister,” Reggie promised. 

Betty breathed a sigh of relief. As annoying, frustrating, and untruthful as the fae were, at least he was bearable.


	10. Toni

Betty knocked on the door of a trendy townhouse in the middle of downtown. It was a quaint, clapboard house surrounded by a lush garden filled with vegetables, herbs, and a few rare poisonous plants that caught her eye. These were not, as Jughead put it, mere ‘acquaintances’. She filled the information away for later questioning when the door opened and a petite woman opened the door.

“Hello, Jughead,” the woman said, a smile playing at her lips. 

So this was Toni, the vampire friend. She was gorgeous, Betty realized, in a biker don’t-mess-with-me sort of way. Toni’s clothes matched Jughead’s aloof, messy style. Purposeful thrifting, in a way. Betty suddenly felt as if she’d tried to hard in selecting her outfit this morning, the pastel cardigan and boat shoes far too cutesy to fit into this crowd. She quickly shoved that thought aside. There were more important things than her own insecurities (insecure about what? Toni? Betty didn’t even know her; but Jughead did …). Shaking the thought out of her head, Betty introduced herself.

Toni gave her a polite nod, ignoring the outstretched hand, and lead them into the ornate home. The foyer was filled with artwork from around the world. Mayan sculptures that were weathered by hundreds of years of sunlight and rain; large French impressionist paintings of the Riviera, the paint yellowing with time; antique Japanese block prints from feudal eras long gone by; Yoruba court masks decorated with metal birds and glittering jewels. It was an intimidating show that was more at home in a Bond villain’s lair. Here, in a cozy modern home, it was a braggadocios display of what the gift of immortality could give, if one did it right.

They made their way down a short hallway, the rest of the house was well lit despite the late hour, crowded with antique furniture and dark wallpaper. Gaslit sconces lit their way and Betty couldn’t help but wonder if there was an old lover trapped in the attic. She quickened her step, her hand reaching out to grasp Jughead’s jacket. When she remembered how flippant he’d been with her earlier, Betty dropped her hand back to her side. 

“Babe?” Toni called out when they reached the end of the hallway. “Jughead’s here.”

“Joy,” came a flippant response.

Betty stepped into a fully stocked industrial kitchen. (Could vampires even eat? Common knowledge told her no, but if that was the case why have a kitchen that had fresh fruit on the counter, spices in a rack, and dry goods artfully placed around the room? Surely it wouldn’t just be for looks?) A redheaded stepped in from the open patio door. Jughead shot her a warning glance and Betty stifled her sudden irritation.

Accusations against the Vixen’s Den bartender, the one who’d rebuffed their questions and sent them those drinks that night, flooded Betty’s mind. Why had she done that? Was she a part of whatever conspiracy was going on? Was she merely an agent of chaos, as Jughead had described her? But asking would likely do no good here, especially when she held information they so desperately needed. 

“Cheryl,” Jughead said through gritted teeth.

“Hobo.” Cheryl didn’t so much as look towards Betty.

Jughead’s hands clenched and Betty realized they were standing on thin ice; between Jughead’s quick temper and Cheryl’s lack of interest this would be a quick meeting if things didn’t settle down.

“Thank you for seeing us,” Betty said with her brightest smile. She took a seat at kitchen island and dug out her notepad. She’d dealt with this sort of person before; flattery and sickly sweet attention would do far better than demanding answers. With her pen poised, Betty devoted her full attention to Cheryl. “Jughead mentioned you were one of the best sources of information when it came to the underground.”

Preening under the false compliment, Cheryl gave a coy smile. Everyone in the room knew it was a lie, but the admissions was enough to pull her out of her prickly shell.

“Is that so?” Cheryl shook her hair out, a sheen to it that could only be achieved by a mix of magic and chemistry, and settled into the bar stool next to Betty. “Toni’s told me so much about your little exploits. Cheryl Blossom.”

Betty took the limp, downturned hand. Did she really expect her to grovel? This bitch…

“I’m afraid you have the upper hand here. I know so little about you,” Betty replied. Before Cheryl could realize she’d sidestepped introductions, Betty flipped to an open page in her notebook. “Toni mentioned you were at The Woods a few weeks ago?”

Cheryl sighed theatrically and picked up an apple. “Poor Josie. Is she still missing?”

‘Josie?’ Betty mouthed at Jughead.

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, Cheryl. She’s still missing, along with-“

Cheryl waved her hand at him and tutted. “Your loss is no bigger than mine, Forsythe, and you’d do well to remember that.”

Jughead’s lip curled as he pushed himself off the counter and Betty jumped in quickly before they lost the only lead they had.

“She went missing?”

“Yes. It was their 50th Anniversary blowout. Val and Melody -“

“Her bandmates,” Toni added.

“-saw her before the show, but after they left the dressing room she was never seen again.”

Betty tapped her pen against her lips. “Did they notice anyone hanging about? Strangers, someone who seemed out of place?”

Cheryl shook her head. “Not that they mentioned.”

“Did you got to her dressing room?”

Cheryl’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re implying -“

“Quit,” Jughead snapped. “She’s trying to help.”

Toni raised her eyebrows in surprise. A surprised reaction, but why? He and Cheryl were at odds, and from what Betty had seen it wasn’t out of the ordinary. And from Cheryl’s smirk, it seemed as if she’d been trying to bait him all along. Unless…

“We were in the audience,” Toni said in the lengthening silence. “A lot of the underground was there, it would have been weird if we didn’t make an appearance. The lighting is never the best there, but I didn’t notice anything unusual.”

“What about the fae?” Betty asked as she flipped through the last few pages of notes. “Were they -“

“They weren’t involved,” Cheryl said quickly. “I would know if they were.”

Betty jotted the assertion down. This was the third person - Veronica, Reggie, and now Cheryl - who’d insisted they weren’t involved. Strange, considering the rumors that were swirling through the covens. Rumors that the fae had shut their doors against all but the most select of persons, along with a few who’d been taken against their will.

“There were a few humans, though,” Tonia said after a moment. “Sweets had to take Fangs home early for a nightcap. He didn’t think Pops would let in humans that night considering it was The Cats playing.”

“I was surprised myself,” Cheryl added. 

She slipped her hand through Toni’s and toyed with the ring on her finger, gaze directed at Jughead. He shook his head and shifted against the counter, his hip bumping up against Betty’s arm. Her words skipped across the page and she elbowed him playfully in response. 

“There are rules, after all, about letting humans into underground spaces like that. Especially when The Pussycats have been playing together for over five hundred years. They might get ideas.”

“I thought you said it was their 50th Anniversary?” Betty asked, hoping it was a crack in their story that might lead to something, anything that could give them some direction.

“Yes, their 50th Anniversary playing at The Woods. Pop got an exclusive contract with them in the 70’s. They’ve been playing together since at least Jericho, probably even earlier,” Cheryl said.

“What about the humans?” Betty asked, sure they were chasing their tails on this one. “Who was letting them in?”

“Perhaps you should ask Pop, or that weirdo DJ of his. Dorkus, or whatever his name is.”

“We did,” Jughead said shortly. “He’s the one who sent us to Fangs and Toni. He also mentioned that you’d been lurking around backstage before the concert.”

Toni stepped away from Cheryl to stare at her. Cheryl’s hand tightened and her smile turned chilly.

“Can I not deliver a gift to my best friend of three thousand years?”

“A gift? Funny, I wouldn’t call the pig’s heart they found in the dressing room a gift.”

Cheryl scoffed. “It is if you’re a demi-god who moonlights as a cat.”

“Babe,” Toni chided softly. There was a painful question in her eyes and Betty found herself looking away from the private moment.

“Later,” Cheryl promised, her gaze soft. It hardened as she turned back to their guests. “As for you two, I’d be more concerned about the bald, chanting, idiots in white. Anyone who wears all white this far past Labor Day is super suss if you ask me.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us about these humans or…”

Betty trailed off. Humans? That was her answer? For Cheryl to claim humans had infiltrated the underground, let alone suspect them of kidnapping a demi-god, let alone a witch and a were? It was unthinkable.

“All I know is they were in desperate need of a spa treatment and a makeover,” Cheryl said with a curled lip. “They even had the nerve to suggest I was one of the ignorant masses who needed their enlightenment.”

Jughead shot Betty an exasperated look and she bit down a smile. He’d been against meeting with Cheryl from the state - his ranting about her for the thirty minute journey to the townhouse a clear signal that there was some unspoken history there - but Betty had persisted. As unlikely a lead as humans were, it was more than they’d had this morning.

“What about -“

Betty was cut off as the patio windows blew in, glass and plant debris propelled at them by searing air. As Betty was just beginning to process what happened, she found herself at the front door, tucked into Jughead’s arms. Behind him Toni held Cheryl carefully in her arms.

“Stay here,” she told Cheryl, her fangs already out. 

Jughead set Betty down, pausing only to brush glass from her ponytail, and was gone before Betty could take a breath.

“What the hell?” Betty asked breathlessly. She stepped towards the kitchen and winced at the sudden pain. A large piece of glass had cut through her cardigan to her skin. Blood stained the light pink fabric and Betty cursed at the sight. 

“Whatever it was, they’re going to wish they were in hell when I’m done with them,” Cheryl snapped. “I just had that kitchen redone.”

She stalked towards the flames that were creeping into the hallway, fists curled in on themselves. Betty followed, pulling out a string of spell beads as she went.


	11. Someone Else

He wasn’t jealous. He couldn’t be jealous. He didn’t do jealous.

After all, Jughead had no reason to be irritated by the closeness that fae had been to her. It wasn’t any of his business if she was alright with the fae leaning in close and whispering in her ear. Nor was it any concern of his that she’d laughed and blushed a brilliant pink, the color bringing a fetching glimmer of life to her cheeks.

They were only partners in crime, after all. Strangers with a common goal.

Besides, he had his own avenues of interest to pursue. Leads to track down. Away from Betty Cooper and her witchyness. 

He’d spent most of the morning trying to come up with someone else he could interrogate, anyone who might know something about where Archie had gone to. Veronica hadn’t given him anything other than the blonde in the bar (and how he wished she hadn’t). Pacing the length of his small apartment only wound him up further as Betty’s scent still lingered in the air almost a month later. He’d left the windows open for a week at a time, directing the small box fan to blow the air out of the apartment. The bedsheets had been washed, bleached, and changed four times and yet her scent teased him whenever he lay down.

Not for the first time he cursed the preternatural senses that had been pressed upon him.

The sun was just rising when his phone buzzed and he leapt towards it. Expecting one woman’s name, he scowled when another’s came up on the screen.

“Torombolo, we’ve had this discussion a million times before. I cannot concentrate when you’re stomping up and down all night,” Veronica chastised. She clicked her tongue in disapproval. “I realize you cannot possibly comprehend what I do, but it’s a delicate art form that requires a clear mind and calm atmosphere. Now, please. Settle the fuck down.”

The call ended and Jughead threw his phone out the window in anger. It clattered on the slowly waking streets below. 

Impulsivity was never his strong suit and he was shocked he’d acted without thinking. Grabbing his beanie, he threw it on and stepped out onto the fire escape. He was itching for a fight. 

From thirteen stories up he could see all the possibilities, all the ways he could assuage his restlessness. From the sirens in the bay to the trolls beneath the bridge, every single magical creature in the city was on edge, ready to defend themselves against anything that might be a threat. The disappearances had been increasing lately. Covens and clans and packs were closing rank. Suspicions ran high and tensions were beginning to boil over. 

Anything he might do now, the wrong word or unmeant slight, could cause a civil war in the streets.

Unable to escape his restlessness, he went down the fire escape and stopped outside of Veronica’s window. It had been at least twenty years since he’d sought her out, and her apartment decor was the only thing that had changed. The dark Victorian wallpaper cast a somber mood, countered by the hardwood furniture’s more modern upholstery. Overall, the room portrayed a modern sort of luxury, one that pulled from the past to create a cohesive sense of atmosphere. Perfect for a medium still trying to scam socialites out of their hard-inherited money.

Unlike other scammers, Veronica Lodge, as she was now known, was the real deal. Rumored to have been Pythia of Delphi, she’d been a whisper among the underground for more than a millennia. She’d been the one to give him the only lead on Archie he’d found. And in doing so had opened a Pandora’s box like no other. 

Without anything else to go on, Jughead realized he’d have to reach out to her once again. Even if she didn’t find anything, at least it would be enough to take his mind off her.

He rapped against the window and Veronica fell out of her seat, her eyes still white from her trance. She blinked a few times and the dark, onyx eyes focused on him. With a scowl, she brushed off her dress and stormed to the window.

“What. The. Hell?” she hissed.

Jughead brushed past her into the apartment. She’d updated the paintings on her wall, something modern and utterly devoid of any life.

“You can’t just barge in here,” Veronica snapped. “Aren’t there rules about that sort of thing?”

He shrugged. There were rules about invitations into a dwelling, but since her last invitation was never revoked…

“Archie’s still missing,” he said in a flat tone.

She frowned and crossed her arms. “And that’s my problem how?”

It wasn’t. But it didn’t stop the need to do something. There was a frustrating itch of helplessness, one that Jughead didn’t know how to scratch. When he began to pace, Veronica groaned and muttered in Latin. He’d been around her long enough to know the general meaning of her words, but when she questioned his lineage he ignored her.

“If it will get you out of my apartment, I will make a few calls.”

Jughead stopped. Her web of connections was vast, a global web of communication that rivaled any government with its depth. A function and consequence of her immortality, any information Veronica gleaned would be worth its wait in gold. Such an offer, though, never came with such little consideration on his part. 

Sourly, he asked why.

Veronica pressed a hand to her forehead. “Because, Forsythe, if I don’t you’ll be skulking around my apartment for the rest of eternity because you refuse to deal with your own issues through a therapist like the rest of us.”

He curled his lip at that. “I don’t have issues,” he muttered.

“Obviously, you do. If it were anyone else I’d think you were hung up on someone romantically, but -“

She paused, her eyes focused on him. He’d made the mistake of going stock still, his body stiffening; such a contrast to his normally laconic posture was catnip to someone like Veronica.

“Oh? I didn’t realize you and Archie -“

“It’s not Archie,” Jughead snapped. 

Instantly realizing his mistake, he groaned. He’d fallen for the oldest trick in the book, and now Veronica looked more like a cat burglar let loose in an unguarded Louvre than she ever had before. Gracefully she lowered herself onto a chaise lounge and propped her head up with a hand, the picture of classic Hollywood.

“Perhaps it’s this witch you’ve been swanning about town with? The two of you have stirred up a lot of idle gossip with your snooping.”

“I don’t swan,” Jughead murmured. He sulked his way to an overstuffed arm chair and threw himself into it, dust flying around him in the early morning sun.

“Do tell,” Veronica said. ““I’ll make a few calls, if you let me in on all the juicy secrets you’re hiding under that moth eaten yarn of yours,” 

Jughead huffed, hemming and hawing through his protestations. It wasn’t long before he’d started from the beginning, haltingly, his words chosen carefully, until his natural inclination as a storyteller took over and he laid his story bare.


	12. Fatherhood

“Why does he matter so much to you?” Penny hissed. “He’ll never make up for your own failure of a father.”

Beyond her Fred lay crumpled in a heap. The attack had been so sudden he hadn’t even had a chance to shift, his human form broken from the impact with the alley’s brick wall. A thick, dark puddle formed around his head and Jughead prayed to a non-existent god that Fred make it through, even if he didn’t. 

And all because he’d taken the hit for Jughead. 

Jughead swore if he made it out of this, he’d make sure Penny would never be able to resurrect again. He kicked, hard, but the toes of his boots bounced off Penny’s shins. Her hand around his neck squeezed, hard enough to snap a human’s neck. Spots danced around him as he gasped, but instead of drawing breath his lungs spasmed in vain. The undead may have little use for normal bodily functions, but even they had a need for air.

“You’re not even his child,” she taunted. A grin spread across her face, too wide to be human. “Just some orphaned leech he brought in to temper that mongrel bastard of his. Such a gutter rat like you has no -“

A blinding flash and a sound like a firecracker flying through the air cut her off. Penny slammed into him, her grip lost. The smell of burning flesh and hair raced through his aching throat and he coughed hard enough to retch. Another flash threw Penny away from him.

The air around him popped and hissed with heat. Jughead crawled towards Fred as embers fell around him, leaving scorched stars along his skin. An unseen hand yanked him the rest of the way, the rattling of a spray can thundering through his ears.

He watched, helpless, as Betty pulled a roll of plastic from her ever present satchel. She set it down and he watched, detached, as she sprayed a fine mist over it. The scent of cedar and cinnamon clawed at his raw throat. When the can was empty a dull glow surrounded them, bringing with it an unheard hum felt in his bones.

“Don’t leave the light,” Betty cautioned. Before Jughead could respond she’d already turned to Fred, vials and bandages appearing from her pockets to litter the ground around them. 

An enraged howl yanked Jughead’s attention back to Penny. Half of her face had burnt off, leaving a dark patch where her eye should have been. 

Still barely able to breathe, Jughead shoved himself further away from Penny.

“What is she?” Betty asked through clenched teeth. 

She poured an acidic, green liquid onto a bandage and pressed it against Fred’s head. While her voice was steady, one glance showed her terror. Her eyes were wide and every muscle was tensed, ready for a fight. Even over the soft thrum of magic he could hear her racing heartbeat and shallow breath. A wave of protective instinct washed over him and he forced himself to sit up. 

“Inner hell demon,” he rasped. 

“Circle?” 

Penny ran headfirst towards them only to stop short by an invisible wall. A noise like a gong chimed around them, coating the area around them with a strange, calming tone. 

The noise rattled Jughead’s senses and the scene around him melted into puddles of hot wax.

Penny gasped as if in pain and jerked herself away. 

“I don’t …”

Enraged, Penny ran towards them again and again, she was stopped by the tone. The noise snapped the world around him back into focus and he tried to clear his head. Down the alley, towards the street proper, heads began to turn.

The gong rattled in his head and Jughead couldn’t help the laughter bubbling up in his chest. Everything was just as it should be, he realized. He was where he should be.

“Jughead,” Betty swam into his vision. Her disheveled hair formed a halo around her, the pink on her cheeks as soft as the morning dew on a peony. “Jughead stay with me.”

He grinned, all his muscles relaxing at the sight of her, finally understanding why so many poets wrote of - 

Reality slapped him across his cheek and the world righted itself by twenty degrees as the light around him faded. Across from his Betty was shaking out her hand.  
His head clearer, Jughead sat up and looked around. Penny, no longer hiding her claws and horns, circled them like a shark. She cradled her puckered face and threw curses towards them.

“I’m so sorry, Juggie,” Betty said breathlessly, typing rapidly on her phone. “I’ve never done that spell with any other than witches and humans, I had no idea how it would affect -“

The tone rattled around them again and Penny’s inharmonic screams scraped the inside of his skull until the world turned black.


	13. Awkward Date

Betty shifted against the cheap canvas seat. A pretend blind date in a tiny restaurant that smelled like cheap incense and day old mown grass wasn’t how this was supposed to go down. Especially not that they’d finally gotten a lead on Archie’s whereabouts. They should have tracked down the lair of this Gargoyle King and thrown down to get information from them.

Throw down? Gaia and all the stars above, she’d spent too much time in Reggie’s presence this week.

It was better than here, though. Surrounded by cultists playing pretend wait staff while they secretly worshipped old gods and demons. 

“So, what do you do?” Jughead asked. He pushed around the beet stew he’d ordered, not even pretending to eat.

Betty turned towards him and on a smile. It was false, as most of the other people here were; she was naked and vulnerable without her cache of charms and herbs. All she had were the runes on her skin. She hadn’t been this defenseless from grade school and it set her teeth on edge. 

“Office administration,” she said lightly, an extra chirp in her voice. She waved her fork around, miming the girls she’d seen on Polly’s reality TV shows, her lashes flitting in an attempt at flirting. “Filing, answering phones. Boring stuff, you know? But as Daddy says, we’ve all got to start somewhere.”

Jughead nodded, his eyes tracking someone behind her. Another white robed person came out, plates of hummus and various vegetables balanced along their arms. It was hard to tell one from the other. Each was shaved bald and wore the same dull, spotless outfit, no make up or accessories to be seen. When one approached their table it was with downcast eyes and flat voices, each devoid of all personality or life.

It was like speaking to a golem, or worse. A puppet.

“I get that. I’m in the mail room at a publishing company,” Jughead said.

She watched as another robed figure, this time with their faced covered by a hood, walk into the restaurant. Betty nudged Jughead’s foot with her own as the figure came their way.

“What do you do for fun?”

“I write,” he said. 

The figure passed by her and Jughead’s gaze intensified, a predator sighting its prey. His eyes didn’t move as if the figure had stopped.

“What about?” She shoved another overcooked carrot into her mouth and tried not to grimace at the mushy texture.

“Mystery stories. After this excursion, I might need to reassess my assumptions,” he said softly.

Betty snorted. Immediately she put a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. Jughead hadn’t taken kindly to her attempts at finding humor in his words, and now that they finally had a lead on Polly she feared losing his help. To her surprise, he gave her a soft smile. 

So he did have a sense of humor after all.

Something caught his attention and he stood. He set the napkin on his chair and excused himself. Betty watched as he headed towards the bathroom only to slip through the back exit. The plan was that he’d loop around the kitchen to overhear something, anything, that might help them. Betty, meanwhile, would keep an eye on the front to warn him if he drew any suspicion. 

The longer she waited, the more worry bubbled up in her throat. Worse, Betty was emotionally mature enough to realize that her worry didn’t fully stem from losing Jughead’s help; rather it was from worry that she’d lose Jughead. It was a terrifying thought, that she’d gotten close enough to care about him, but she reminded herself it wasn’t uncommon for those in a stressful situation to form a close bond. The bond itself tended to dissolve after the stress went away. So the sooner they found Polly and Archie, the better. After all, it wouldn’t do to become attached to a vampire of all things.

Betty continued to pick through the soggy vegetables so she didn’t have to think about all of the terrible things that could have happened to him by now.

“Are you ready for the check?” one of the eerie robed figures asked.

Betty shook her head. She smiled, hoping to convey a sense of frantic hope that Jughead would come back. After all, he’d been gone long enough to rouse the attention of the waitstaff. But perhaps, if she played it right, they’d merely think her another miserable victim of one sided attraction.

“Not yet. I’m waiting for my date to come back.” She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “I think he’s the one.”

With a pitying look, the robed figure returned to the register. Betty continued to pick at her food, waiting for a sign that Jughead had gotten some information and wishing the cultists had better culinary taste.


	14. Are YOU The Babysitter?

“Veronica?” Jughead slurred, his hand swaying as he pointed towards her. “Are you the babysitter?”

He shifted forward, off balance, and Betty stumbled. She shifted his arm further down her neck, praying this was the right apartment. Jughead cackled, a strange sound of glee.

“Charming,” Veronica said dryly. She opened the door and stepped back. “And you must be Betty.”

“Hi,” Betty grunted. “This is Kevin and Fred.”

She half-dragged, half-walked Jughead towards the couch. Behind her Kevin helped a far more lucid Fred. As she crossed the threshold the stench of camphor incense attacked her and she fought back a sneeze. 

“Should I ask what happened?” Veronica drolled.

“Penny Peabody and the flaming disaster,” Jughead said, his head lolling back and forth.

“We got ambushed,” Fred clarified. 

When they reached the couch, Jughead refused to let her go. Betty tumbled on top of him, unable to break his grip. At Veronica’s sly look, Betty fought to extricate herself without too much embarrassment; unfortunately, she fell to the floor. Disheveled and covered in ash she yanked out her hair tie and pulled it up into a messy bun as she glared at him.

Veronica cooed something in a language Betty didn’t recognize, but from Jughead’s snort it was obvious he knew what she’d said.

“Be nice,” he said. He pointed to Betty. “She is.”

Betty blushed and stood, purposefully ignoring Kevin’s gleeful look.

“Do I want to know what you did to him?” Before Betty could protest her innocence, Veronica held up a hand. “I’m sure he deserved whatever it was, I would just like to know to sate my professional curiosity.”

Betty knew Jughead kept more underground company than just her and Archie, but she’d been lead to believe he was, for the most part, a loner. And yet he’d trusted Veronica enough to direct Betty to call her and ask for refuge, even in this state. 

As if reading her mind, Veronica held out her hand. “Priestess of Delphi, Cassandra, Sibyl of Cumae - despite what Dante claimed there was no sexual ecstasy in reading his future or his person -, Saint Hildegard of Bingen. Just a few names I’ve gone by. But you can call me Veronica.”

Betty hoped Veronica couldn’t tell how badly her hand tremored as they shook hands. Those names were only heard in whispered prayers. Such a famed prophetess had been chalked up to fairytales and children’s nursery rhymes. Betty herself had put the fabled woman in the same make-believe category as Bigfoot, pixies, and ever getting the last of streaks off the windows. To be in such a presence…

“Do tell. What spell did you cast to make our dear Forsythe fall all over himself? I’ve seen stronger witches than you try and fail.”

“A basic protection circle,” Betty stammered. “Though I might have gone too heavy on the -“

“Cedar? Vampires are naturally adverse, though it does little to explain him. Gaelic, Egyptian, or -“

“A mix of Incan and Shinto. It’s something I’ve been working on but I didn’t ever think I’d have to use it against a demon. My intentions were more for physical harm, bullets, assaults -“

“-and trains by the look of it. Did you tweak the structure or the -“

“Both, actually, and I’m wondering whether it was using the North Wind instead of the South to bind it -“

“-which would explain his intoxicated idiocy-“

“-or whether it’s because I used oxen spit instead of sow’s blood-“

“What about the binding? Did you use -“

Kevin cleared his throat and the pair turned to him. Veronica looked irritated to have been interrupted, but Betty realized Fred was looking whiter by the minute. As she rummaged through her satchel, Veronica leaned against the couch. 

“How in this universe were you able to draw it so quickly? It takes me ages to prepare the lines.”

“You’ve got spiders in your windows,” Jughead said lightly. “They’ll have made you curtains by tomorrow.”

“Oh that’s simple enough,” Betty said, ignoring his aside. She reached further into her bag and pulled out a rolled piece of plastic no bigger than a cutting board. She passed it to Veronica, and when it was unfurled it cast long, strange shapes on the carpet. “I cut it beforehand and then spray the mix on it when I need it. The spraycan’s preloaded so all I have to do is make sure -“

“Ladies, this is fascinating, but I’m in a metered spot,” Kevin cut in. He turned to Fred and in a faux whisper said, “I swear, she’s always like this. Get her talking about magic minutiae and she’ll go on for hours.”

Despite his pallid skin, Fred wore an amused smile.

This time, Betty and Veronica both blushed. While Betty went about crushing herbs, Veronica went out of the room to fetch a spoon and a glass of water. Handing both off to Betty, she turned to Fred.

“And who are you, again?”

“Fred Andrews. Archie’s father. I’d stand, but,” he motioned to his head, still a mat of blood and hair. 

Veronica shook her head. “Quite understandable after the beating you both took. But how were you ambushed? I thought were’s were nigh impossible to sneak up on.”

“A lesser demon made a deal with the devil,” Jughead sang out from the couch. He began to sing the phrase to himself, and Betty pressed his hand to quieten him.

“I suppose that explains it. What’s harder to explain is how we’re going to treat those burns.”

“Aloe root, marijuana, and rosewater,” Betty said. She scooped the mixture into the glass and stirred. “It’s never been tested on a wound made by a demon, but -“

“It’s a brilliant mixture for burns, none the less. There may be a grimoire somewhere that deals with that sort of thing, though it’s been an age since I’ve had to heal anyone,” Veronica said. She opened a locked cabinet neatly filled with jars, powders, and leather bound papers. “Not that it’s a pleasure to meet you, but why is the human here?”

Kevin shot Veronica a dark look. 

“He’s been my best friend since we were born,” Betty said. 

“Practically her familiar,” Kevin added.

Jughead threw a cushion in his direction. It sailed the wrong way in the room, narrowly missing a lamp.

“Manners, Torombolo, that’s a turn of the century Tiffany’s and I hate to see it ruined by your jealousy.”

Standing, Betty handed the glass to Fred. “I’ve never made anything for a were before, or even for anybody other than a witch or human. But, in theory, it should work -“

“Her potions always work,” Kevin corrected, “in theory and in reality.”

Betty preened at the praise. Fred took a sip and cringed. 

“I’ve had worse,” he said when Betty tried to take it from him. “Cheers.”

In one go, he’d finished the potion. Soon after his eyes closed and a light snore was heard.

“Found it!” Veronica trilled.

She set the large book down on the table and directed Fred to go lay down in one of the closed rooms to rest. With Jughead still humming the strange tune, Veronica and Betty got to work with Kevin acting as their aide.


	15. Fred's Ladder

“A ladder?Seriously?That’s your plan” Betty hissed.“Where did you even find a ladder?”

Jughead shushed her and listened hard.The sounds from the warehouse thankfully hadn’t changed, still a patter of voices that rose and fell like a song.In all likelihood, they could set off a firework out here and no one would notice, but he had always been a touch on the paranoid side. 

“It’s Fred’s,” he whispered.“And it was the easiest solution.Unless you want to knock on the front door?”

Betty rolled her eyes but gestured for him to lead the way up the ladder.As he neared the roof, Jughead slowed to peer into a large window.Bald figures in red following linen darted between curtained areas that ringed the walls, while the rest, still clad in white linen, congregated around a table overflowing with snacks and drinks set in the middle of the floor.

“Well?”she asked from below him.

“They’re just… socializing.”

“What?”

He heard Betty clamber up the ladder for him - witches were definitely not made for reconnaissance, he decided - and pushed at the window in front of him.It opened with a creak but the chatter below hid the noise.Moving slowly, he stepped onto a support beam and slid across it. 

“Tea and …” Betty squinted.“Are those macaroons?”

He watched as she stood on the ladder, waiting for her to follow him.Her eyes were sharp, flitting from person to person - no doubt looking for her sister -, but it would be better for both of them if she’d come inside.Jughead beckoned towards her and her face went white.

“You must be kidding,” she hissed. 

For all the bravado she’d shown in the little time he’d known her, it came as a shock that something as simple as a crossbeam fifty feet up in the air could stall her.

“We’re never going to get anywhere if we can’t get closer,” Jughead hissed. 

“Have you forgotten I’m _breakable_?”

No, he hadn’t.As hard as he might want to forget that simple fact, that particular worry refused to let him be. Since a vampire’s body was already dead, pain was a foreign concept to it.While Death hadn’t taken away the vampire’s ability to feel pain, it had dulled it into a minor irritation.Except in the unlikely event where fire, massive blood loss, and major bodily damage.Vampires weren’t invincible, but they were a damn sight harder to kill than a human.

And, apparently, a witch.

“I won’t let you fall,” he promised.

Betty narrowed her eyes at him and he felt a pang of irritation.Did she really think so little of him?They’d already spent a week tracking these fanatics down, and yet -

And yet why did it matter to him _what_ she thought.He shook his out stretched hand, ready to drag her through if she kept waiting.Something was about to happen below if the rising noise was any indication.

With a huff, Betty pulled herself through the window.Her hands shook as she reached for the crossbeam and set her foot on it.Struck by fear for but a moment, she slowly crawled the three feet towards him.When she was close enough, Betty wrapped her legs and hands around the beam tight enough her knuckles went white. 

Jughead raised an eyebrow and scooted further along the beam.Her stubborn pride, the one he’d grown to know far too well, forced her to scoot along behind him without complaint.When they neared the middle Betty’s hand slipped.Her eyes went wide, mouth open in a silent scream, as her body pitched to the right.It was easy enough for him to right Betty on the beam; the hard part was ignoring her pounding heart throbbing through his ears and warm hand clamped around his arm.

As she steadied herself, he cultists below dropped into a murmur, the crowd growing more and more restless.Jughead stared down at them, willing himself to focus on anything other than the witch next to him.As one the cultists turned towards the large bay doors of the warehouse, the air ripe with anticipation.Betty gripped his arm tighter and he tugged her closer towards him, her knees barely brushing his legs; it wouldn’t do, he reasoned, to have half of their investigative duo scared so witless she failed to pay attention.

The murmur of voices were drowned out when the shipping door opened.Light heralded the coming of something important enough to cause all sound but that of the door to cease.Finally, it opened enough to reveal the shadow of a man with a spotlight behind him.The overall effect was likely to awe and intimidate, but for Jughead it only made him feel as if he should have worn sunglasses. 

One by one, the cultists dropped to their knees.Those in red stood in front of their assigned curtains and bowed deeply at the waist, their hands clasped in front of them.Even from this height, Jughead could see several with tears running down their faces at the sight of him.

Satisfied with their debasement, the man stepped inside the warehouse.With a loud click, the spotlight went out, leaving behind a middle-aged man dressed in white linen and Birkenstocks.His clothes were the only thing that connected him with the others; his hair was a brilliant gold, even in the sickly florescent lights above, and his face held a joyous self-consciousness that all the other cultists lacked.

“My brothers and sisters,” the man said, his voice amplifying and folding in on itself.“You are here.We are one!”

“We are one!” came their echoing call.

“I’m sure many of you have questions.Questions about why you were called here tonight.Why you were chosen while so many of your brethren were not.”

He clapped, once, and the devotees rose from the ground.Their eyes never left the concrete floors, though many lifted their arms in supplication.

“You have each been hand picked,” he continued, “each deemed worthy to receive my wisdom.After all, we have each begun to see the light.Enlightenment is within your grasp, my friends, you just have to reach out and take it.Being here tonight is your first step in doing so. 

“And I am proud of you for having the courage, the _fortitude_ to be here tonight.”

A pause to let his praise sink over his followers. 

“We have begun our ascension!”

The crowed erupted into a roar.Jughead tried to flinch away from the noise.Supernatural hearing was great until a crowd lost its mind in a crowded arena.While it wasn’t as bad as the last sports game he’d been dragged to, it was still worse than the gigs Archie dragged Jughead to. 

Jughead glanced over at Betty to find her lips pursed, eyes flitting across each cultist.No doubt trying to find her sister among them.With a pang of guilt, he realized he should look for Archie as well.Though this didn’t seem like Archie’s type of people, Jughead had seen enough weirdness this past week to know that nothing was out of the realm of possibility when it came to this cult.

Once the jubilation slowed, the man held up his hands.The crowd dropped into an unnatural silence that left Jughead’s ears ringing.He had to strain to hear even a single breath. 

A woman slipped from behind a curtain to stand next to the man, her arms full of red scarves.Betty’s hand loosened from his arm, and Jughead glanced at her only to find her lips set in a narrow grimace and her eyes narrowed.That pinpoint focus of hers had returned with a vengeance and it was all due to the appearance of that woman.Jughead made a mental note to dig up anything he could about her, and returned his attention to the task below. 

His hand, as if by its own volition, slipped around Betty’s waist.His thumb slipped through her belt loop and, with a light tug, he reminded her of his presence. Betty’s heartbeat quickened again.

“The next task we ask of you might seem strange, brutal.Savage, even.But I would not be asking this of you if I did not believe you were capable. 

“There are reasons for what we do.You may not understand them, or even see them, yet.Rest assured, my brothers and sisters in arms, this is necessary for your ultimate enlightenment.This is the first step to our glorious end!”

A shout of joy came from those clothed in red and was picked up by those going through this strange initiation.With little prompting, those in white began to form a line, livestock lining up for the chute, each in turn stopping in front of the charismatic man.He would lay a scarf around the neck of the devotee, and in thanks the devotee would drop to the floor and kiss each of their leader’s feet in return.The devotee would then be lead to stand in front of one of the curtains to wait for some signal.It took almost thirty minutes for each to be draped in red and the anticipation in the room only grew the longer it took. 

Once red slashed around each person’s neck, the man raised his hands for the last time that night.

“Children.Light of my heart.Remember that what you are about to see tonight is shocking.But it is also the truth that has been hidden from you behind a veil of secrecy.For the truth is, we are not alone in this world!”

Impossible.

“Creatures of darkness.”

No.

“Myths and legends who walk among us.”

This couldn’t be happening.

“Feed on us.Prey on us!”

Jughead’s stomach dropped.The only enforceable rule of the underground was complete ignorance of humans.Be they witch or fae, seer or were, each were taught from childhood that any human who discovered their existence, who _threatened_ their existence, was to be destroyed.Stories persisted of towns disappearing for coming too close to the truth.When sightings and curious happenings couldn’t be explained by drugs, hallucinations, or cryptids, cities lost blocks of people.All across the world, the underground knew how precarious its existence was. 

And he himself had been taught from death that humans were never to find out about any of them.And it had been a lesson he’d learned well.The smell of his sister’s hair still clogged his nostrils, the screams of his mother echoing in his ears.And all because he couldn’t bear to stay away.

Jughead shoved those memories out of his head - how many years now had he spent trying to atone? - and refocused on the scene below.

“What we were taught to be scary stories.Fiction.Lies!These creatures who lived under your beds stand among the rest of the world.They lurk on us.Murder us.Deceive us!But I will pull the veil from your eyes and show you what this world really is!”

He raised his hands, and each curtain was pulled back.Over a dozen metal tables came into view, a corpse on each.Just as in Curdle’s lab, each had been flayed open from chest to navel, the cavernous contents of their bodies on horrifying display.A gasp ran through the crowd and several stumbled away only to trip onto the floor.From this height, it was difficult to tell the identities of who lay on the tables, let alone what, but Jughead had a sinking feeling that he could guess.

Jughead forced himself to look at each table, his eyes looking for that shock of red hair.There were fae, two land, their bark like faces in twisted sneers; a water and an air fae, both deflated and melted in comparison; a were-cat caught mid-transformation, patches of skin still showing through the dark fur; several that looked far too human to be any of the underground except a witch, or perhaps humans to show the differences; and there, on the far end, a werewolf.It’s body was far too small, it’s hair far too dark, to be Archie.

A tragedy, of course, but not one personal to Jughead. 

“She’s not here,” Betty muttered, her eyes glued to one of the human like corpses.“But all of these…”

It was hard to take in.Barring the ban on human knowledge of the underground, this was the first time Jughead had ever seen their kind dead at the hands of humans.As many divisions as their may be among the people of the underground, they were all of the same opinion when it came demons and humans.

With growing discomfort, they watched as the humans peered, prodded, and poked at their brethren, some giggling with anxiety, others taking copious notes.Each held a line of tension in their bodies, fear that they were not as alone as they were lead to believe.Whoever this man was, he held enormous power.Not only over his people, but also over the underground.He was now one of the most dangerous threats they’d seen since the time of the crusades.

“What do you think they’re doing with them?” Betty asked, her voice soft.The line above her brow was creased, her lips parted slightly.Puzzling, no doubt, over this sudden impossible wrench in reality. 

“Examining them.Studying them.”

He remembered the fae laying on that table, modesty no longer afforded to it.Fae custom required the dead to be burned and scattered across their birth land.Earth returning to earth; air to air; water to water.Now their dignity had been stolen away, and it was doubtful they’d ever find peace again.

“Do you think they still have …”

“All their parts?”

He shrugged, the movement catching his thumb on Betty’s belt loop.He shifted her closer, unaware he was doing it until her legs ran up under his on the beam.She shifted to swing her knee around to look at the curtains behind them.Jughead’s hand tightened.He didn’t know if he feared her sudden fall, or the image of her on one of those medical tables below.

“No clue.The real question is how they found out about us?”

Betty let out her breath in a huff, the smell of chai latte with oat milk and extra cinnamon wafted across him, and glared over her shoulder. 

“One of us must have told him.”

He glanced over his shoulder where the man stood watching over his flock.Next to him was that same woman, her curly hair hanging limp around her shoulders.She looked to be human, as did he, but looks were fleeting when it came to the underground.Jughead cursed.He knew he should have eaten a second time before they’d come.If he had more information it would be so much easier to puzzling this out, and the sound of Betty’s heartbeat wouldn’t be drawing so much of his attention away from the matters at hand. 

They watched for over an hour as the initiates went from one table to the next, their instructors pointing out differences and similarities.After the initial shock, the study of the bodies became routine.Each devotee took a morbid interest in each creature, crowding around the corpse with little to no shame.It was hideous, and not for the first time Jughead wondered how widespread this cult was.Surely _someone_ in the underground knew about this.Secrets never stayed secret for long. 

Betty shifted on the beam next to him, restless as he was.The inability to do anything about this, to exact revenge, to extinguish the sacrosanct knowledge these humans had, made his teeth itch. 

“How long do you think they’ll do this for?”

Jughead shook his head.“All night.Each group’s been by every table at least three times by now.I wouldn’t be surprised if they were drilling the information into their heads.”

“But unless they’re planning on cutting everyone they come across open seeing us like this doesn’t teach them anything.The fae and were’s especially.They never go anywhere looking like _that_.”

He shrugged.“Maybe that’s the point.Make them aware that we exist and then prove that most of us are just like them.On the inside, at least.”

She hummed, drumming the tips of her fingers against her leg.The motion shimmied its way up her thigh and into her hip, echoing through Jughead’s hand.His stomach growled, hunger pains chasing down the movement, and Betty raised an eyebrow.

“How can you be hungry seeing this?”

If he could have blushed, he would have.It was clear she didn’t have any familiarity with vampires - outside of their lust fueled tryst, at least - or she’d have pegged the source of his hunger immediately.

“I can always eat,” he muttered.Sullenly, he turned back to watch the cult and refused to say anything more until long after they’d left despite Betty’s protestations.


	16. Reality Show

The room swam into view in front of her, black spots dancing on the outskirts of her vision.Blinking her eyes, Betty slowly came to the realization that she was bound to a chair when she couldn’t grip her pounding head.She retched as her sight went black again. 

“Stop with the dramatics, Elizabeth,” a woman’s voice sighed behind her.“It’s only a little hemlock.”

Betty forced herself to sit up and squint against the moving black blobs that had taken up residence in her eyes.Dark red curtains, dusty from age; an old hardwood stage littered with scratches and stains; and a room full of silent figures in front of her, staring blankly at her.

“Where -“ 

Her words were garbled, muzzy and difficult to catch hold of.A flash of pain erupted at the back of her head and she tried to piece together what happened.It was near impossible, though, as none of her thoughts stayed still long enough to line them up. 

(Something about cats in queues.Or was it tutus?Bald cats dress all in white, offering her a plate of hummus and nirvana, warning her against the dangers of keeping Oregon.Or was it Ontario?

(Ah.A concussion then.She’d heard about those once.Maybe twice.Or was it -)

The slap rang out around her and her vision flared into a Lead Zepplin light show, the ones Trev had always tried to get her to go to.Or was it more like the Fourth of July, where fireworks flared against the dead black sky to -

“Damnit, I told you to use only a touch of hemlock. What did you two incompetents do?” the woman snapped.

Flat, sluggish voices groveled with apologies until one sounded out above the rest.“We’re sorry, priestess, but she wouldn’t eat our food.We thought it was best to try alternative methods.”

“What did you do?”

“Light of the Moon used a few techniques from our previous life. We assured ourselves that it would leave no lasting damage, and from our expertise -“

“Just,” the woman took a deep breath, “go take your spot in the crowd.” 

They shuffled off, cloth rustling around them and Betty remembered thinking she’d had a bad idea once.More than one, even.But why would that matter now?Something about fake brownies and a recipe book?

Betty was shoved back against the seat and she gagged at the sudden movement.A redheaded woman came into focus, freckles scattered across her cheeks like a dusting of cinnamon ( _“Purification, love, lust, but no more than two teaspoons…”)_ , her eyebrows drawn together in frustration ( _“Lavender and chamomile to turn away the nightmares, demons won’t come near you when I’m around…”_ ).Betty knew her from somewhere.This woman was important, but something about her was wrong.She had to remember, even with the shadows pressing pain into every nook of her head.

“Evie?”

Evelyn snorted at the nickname.“That’s Priestess to you.” 

She held up a vial of foul smelling liquid to Betty’s lips ( _“Potions are the quickest to work, but don’t forget to take the vial with you when you leave…”)_.Betty parted her lips, the same as she did every night in childhood, and let the liquid fall down her throat without a fight. ( _“It’s awful, huh?But it’s the only way for the runes to take, Lizzie.I promised your mother…”)_

( _What_ was so important about Evelyn?It was vital she remember, but everything felt as if her insides had been replaced by clouds of cotton and nothing was real.All she could remember was Evie curling up around her and reading her bedtime stories when her mother was out; Evie doing Polly’s makeup for the initiation ceremony; Evie disappearing before Betty’s fourteenth birthday; Evie -)

“Happy Day!He is risen!” Evelyn said, throwing her hands in the air.A chorus of voices repeated her words back at her, the noise echoing around the gymnasium.It bounced around in Betty’s skull until it came to rest in the pit of her stomach, fetid in its existence.This was a farce; it had to be.Some strange reality show where nothing was true and everything was true; ghosts of the past returning to haunt her; her mother’s sins hanging above the daughter, the Sword of Inherited Damocles trembling among the voices. 

“We have a treat for tonight, my brethren.An unbeliever.A heretic.A spiritual murderer in our midst!”

The crowd stamped their feet once.As the sound died down an unnatural silence took its place and Betty shifted against the ropes, trying to find some weakness in the knots. 

Evelyn came closer ( _what was it she’d forgotten_ ) and placed a hand on Betty’s shoulder.

“In another life, this woman, this _witch_ ,” Evelyn spat, as if the word itself was unfit for her congregation, “was my sister in all ways but blood.I raised her.I cared for her.I laughed with her, broke bread with her, cried with her. 

“And yet when I found the light, when I found the true path,” Evelyn yanked Betty’s ponytail and forced her to face the crowd. 

Betty’s vision danced with the darkness.She wavered in and out of consciousness, Evelyn’s words as muffled as a party three doors down, the words muffled against the pain.

“- and yet she and her kind would try to stop our glorious plan.They don’t _want_ us to be free.They don’t _want_ us to reach our full potential.Because if we do -“

“We will rule!” came the resounding response. 

Betty’s vision came back into focus and with it came the memory of Evelyn walking out of the coven along with ten other women, among them Alice.Evelyn had spun tales of an eternal life of happiness; promised them power and independence divorced from magic. It was a siren’s call to those who’d felt unheard in the coven, those looked over for positions of power, those whose own magic had fizzled over the years or who’d never been that adept in shaping it to their will.

As for why Alice had left…

Ten years on and Betty still wondered why her mother had gone with Evelyn.If it was a strange sense of loyalty, a belief in the mad prophet’s promises, or if she really did feel as if she’d never been needed within the coven.It had to be something big enough for her to leave two teenage daughters alone.At least, Betty hoped it was something big enough.

Betty’s eyes scanned the faces closest to her, squinting against the stage light.It was hard to distinguish one cultist from another.Harder still when her mind pressed Alice’s eyes, nose, mouth onto each face she saw. 

Evelyn’s shouts cut through to Betty and warning klaxons sounded off in her head.

“And what do we do to our enemies?”

“Drink their blood!Eat their organs!Lay them at his feet in praise of him!”

Betty shuddered at their conviction.Belief was one thing; slavish, violent devotion another.She shifted, trying to reach the knife she always kept in her back pocket, but the ropes held her tight.In front of her, Evelyn raised a cup and a sword high above her head, the silver casting beams of light on her congregation.A hush fell over the crowd once more and she closed her eyes in ecstasy. 

Seeing her like this, it was easy enough to see why she was called priestess.Robed in lose linen, her feet and hands bare, her copper ringlets danced among the shifting rays of light.An ancient druid steeped in ancient beliefs, her voice held no doubts, no question, no uncertainty as to her cause. 

“Hallowed be his name, our one true savior sent to cleanse this earth,” she said softly. 

She repeated it, her voice rising each time.The crowd murmured along with her, their eyes locked on her.As their voices raised to a fever pitch the lights went out around them and everything went deadly quiet.

Betty tugged harder on her bindings, desperate to get free.Her gasping breath and desperate attempts were the only sounds in the dark.As the rope dug further into her wrists and ankles she cursed herself for going back to the restaurant alone.She knew she should have waited.But Jughead had gone off on his own, refusing to tell her why, and the thought that perhaps they’d missed something nagged at her conscious.The whole restaurant had a bad aura, lies and deceit running through their cheery facade. 

Frustrated with the lack of progress, and frustrated with Jughead’s lack of faith in her own abilities (even though she’d saved him from a demon last week; _especially_ because she’d saved him) Betty went back under the guise of wanting another taste of their bland, flaky desserts and, perhaps, an introduction to their beliefs.Her food hadn’t been in front of her for more than ten minutes before… well before she was hit in the head, she supposed. 

The lights went back up again and an icepick of pain shot through her left temple, blinding her.The space behind her eyes throbbed and she leaned forward, her stomach heaving.Ice ran along her wrists and she stifled a scream.

“Don’t make a sound, there’s no telling when they’ll be back,” Jughead’s familiar voice whispered. 

Her heart fluttered as the rope dropped from her wrists.Betty looked around and found that the room was completely empty, a psychological tactic no doubt.Evelyn always did like to play head games rather than work things out like a normal person.

“Where did they go?” Betty asked, scanning the room for any sign of life.

“Purification ritual.”

Not that the ropes were gone from her ankles, Betty stood.Pins and needles waltzed down her limbs and she caught herself against Jughead’s shoulder.With a stony expression he slipped off his grey beanie and handed it to her.

“Your head’s still bleeding,” he said in a flat tone. 

The rough wool scraped at her raw scalp, but she was grateful for the gesture. 

Jughead nodded towards a door tucked away against the wall on the far side of the room and she followed silently, still unsteady on her feet.The third time she stumbled he picked her up and jogged almost noiselessly to the door.

“You didn’t bring any baubles with you, did you?”

She pursed her lips, confused.“Baubles?”

“Marbles, rocks.Whatever those bombs you make are.”

Those charms were anything but baubles, and she’d hate to see what they did in another’s hands.She’d poured years of research into refining the shaky art of imbuing, years she might have better spent pursuing other pursuits.Yet this was where she’d excelled, all for it to be refined down to ‘baubles.’

Laughter threatened to escape her at his ridiculous descriptions.A side effect of the concussion, no doubt.She’d have to seek out Dr. Curdle.Herbs and potions and spells did little against this sort of injury and despite the opinions of most witches, modern medicine did have its own place in their arsenal. 

“No, they would have seen right through me if I’d brought anything like that,” Betty said.“Though I suppose they did regardless.”

She stifled a gasp when Jughead shifted her to lean out the door, the sudden rush of blood into her hand rippling with a thousand sharp, tiny pinpricks.Ignoring her discomfort, he slipped down the hallway, navigating his way through the strange maze of white, florescent lit hallways.They slipped out of the building into a common brick alleyway, littered with trash.Steam rose into the chilly morning air and Betty shivered.

In the dim light, she realized Jughead was seething.Strangely, she wanted both to apologize for getting into this situation and yell at him that she didn’t need saving. 

Instead, she did neither and thanked him for his help.

He narrowed his eyes at her, inspecting her as if for deceit.Without another word, he slung his jacket around her shoulders and walked past her into the street.It smelled of cold fields and damp earth, coffee and ancient leather.A blush came to her cheeks as she realized how much she’d missed the scent. 

It was the concussion, she decided.And the kidnapping and potential of being sacrificed to a madman claiming to be divine.Otherwise she’d never have thought of so many descriptors of how Jughead smelled, walked, and talked.She’d never wonder why he’d come to save her, nor why he seemed so angry about having to do so.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of her mind Betty pulled the jacket on and trailed behind him, wondering how well the suggestion of waffles would go over.


	17. A Job Interview

“Wait, you two?You’re the ones my dearest T.T. referred me to?”Cheryl dropped her sunglasses a half inch so she could sneer at the pair behind the desk.“A magicless witch and a one fanged vampire are supposed to help me find my brother.”

Jughead couldn’t help but to run his tongue over where he left canine should be.Next to him Betty pulled a taut, polite smile.All he wanted was to smear her discomfort off the earth, in this case the annoyance that was Cheryl Blossom, succubus extraordinaire, but if this plan of theirs was going to work, this _future_ together was going to work, it would be best that he didn’t destroy their first client.

( _Could_ you destroy a succubus?He filed the question for later research, next to how to get back at a fae for juvenile pranks without catching the eye of the entire faery court.)

“If you don’t feel comfortable hiring us, Cheryl -“ Betty began.

“No, no, not at all,” Cheryl waved the question off and settled further into the chair.Her languid repose was likely meant to seduce and intimidate, honed over millennia of practice, but to Jughead all it did was irritate. “I was just surprised my Toni has such confidence in you.After all, you did destroy our bar.”

“You were hiding known drug runners,” Jughead reminded her through clinched teeth.

Cheryl pooh-poohed this point.As she gazed around the newly renovated office - minimalist, Swedish decor that Veronica had insisted on when he’d told her of their plans - Jughead shared a look with Betty.A silent conversation went between them, he trying to dissuade her from accepting Cheryl’s office and Betty reminding him that someone had to pay their rent.

He scowled and turned back to Cheryl.

“Young love, so… vulgar,” she sighed. 

She pulled her handbag into her lap and pulled out a folded packet of papers.Betty took it from her hesitantly. 

“Where should we-“

Cheryl stood suddenly, a firm announcement she had more important things to do than discuss her missing brother’s whereabouts.

“Money is no object, after all.I want all your attention on this until he’s found.Everything I know is in those papers, along with anything I could manage to drag out of those simpering snobs of hell he liked to hang out with.I’d suggest starting out somewhere by the river, he always was fond of water.Ta.”

With a flick of her hair, Cheryl swished out the door. 

Betty let out a deep sigh.“Well that was …”

“Demeaning?Irritating?Foul?”

Betty pulled the papers towards her and unfolded them.A check fell out and she let out a low whistle.

“More like profitable.”


	18. Blue and Gold Couch

Betty awoke suddenly to pain flooding her side. With a hiss she rolled over. Every inch of her body hurt, from her toenails to her molars. Haltingly, she peeled off her shirt. In the dim morning light, the bandages were a dark stain against her skin. Thankfully, they were dry to the touch. Relieved, she let herself relax into the unfamiliar bed to examine her surroundings. The more she looked, the more she realized how familiar the room was. 

Slowly, she rolled up. Waiting until she was steady, Betty pushed herself off the bed and hobbled towards the bathroom. In the harsh bathroom lights she realized she looked far worse than she feared. Dark purple bruises mottled her skin, proof of the beating she’d taken. Dark cuts and dried blood rouged her face, though she wasn’t sure if the blood was hers or someone else’s. 

The worst wound, though, was the golden tinged scars on her thighs. Where once sat her protection runes, gifts from the coven on the day of her birth, now there was only a ghost of their forms. Without them, her body no longer had any natural defenses against magic or physical attack. 

With a shudder, she turned on the shower faucet. At least she was still alive. She couldn’t say the same for many of Penny and Edgar’s pawns. Picking up a dark hand towel, Betty gingerly wiped away the evidence of last night’s fight.

Now clean, Betty stepped out into the apartment’s living room, her blood covered clothes exchanged for the set that had been laid out on the bed for her. She tugged at the hem of the large heather shirt, willing it to cover the vibrant scars on her legs. The apartment was sparsely decorated, it’s emptiness more apparent in the morning light. Almost as if Jughead cared little for setting down roots. 

As she neared the couch, she realized there was a figure sleeping heavily on the garish blue and gold couch. An old crocheted afghan was thrown over their prone body and as Betty neared she prayed to find straw colored hair. The fear that last night was nothing more than a dream gripped her and she held her breath as she approached. 

Under the blanket lay Polly, her breath rising and falling. No damage, save for a bandage along her side, the sight of which made Betty shuddered at what had been done to her. Polly’s runes, though, were still intact, the ink dark along her arms.

A noise came from the kitchen and Betty crouched in a panic. Without her source of magic she was resigned to grimoires, charms, and potions; any other magic would kill her. From the shadows, Jughead appeared and her panic shifted to something more terrifying. 

He watched approach, his eyes hooded and unreadable. Her bruises were dreadful to look at, and doubly as painful, but she was grateful that they were there to hide her school girl blush. Heart in her throat, she made her way towards the kitchen island. Now that they’d found Polly and Archie, they had no business left together. So now… what?

“Morning,” Jughead greeted softly. 

His hair was a mess, as if he’d run his fingers through it all night, and she was surprised he hadn’t thrown on his usual grey beanie. Without it he looked more mature, more intimidating. He turned his back to her to pour a cup of coffee and she scanned the skin around his undershirt for any injuries. Surprisingly his skin was unblemished, and Betty envied his natural healing abilities. When he turned he set a cup of coffee in front of her. 

“Morning,” she replied. 

She wrapped her hands around the mug and stared into the dark liquid. Scrying was never her strong suit, but that couldn’t keep the fear and anticipation of what was to come from coming over her. 

“How are -,” he paused to clear his throat. 

Betty sipped at her coffee to hide a smile. It appeared that she wasn’t the only one who didn’t know how to act.

“I’m okay,” she said. “Thankful to be in one peace, Gaia be blessed. Are you -“

He nodded. “Yeah. Demon fire apparently isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. And besides, I didn’t really need those fingers anyways.”

Ice ran through Betty’s veins and she stood, already reaching for his hands. Jughead pressed her back into her seat, apologies raining from his lips. 

“That was a bad joke, I shouldn’t -“

“No, it’s fine, I just -“

They stopped talking and the early morning noise of the waking city filtered in around them, a muted party to their silence. Jughead’s hand still lay on her shoulder, the ice in his touch reminding her that they’d made it out alive. Her body, though, was far more sensitive now without her runes. She couldn’t help the shudder that ran through her body.

He jerked away and Betty reached for his hand. Tenderly, she cradled it between hers, her fingers tracing his knuckles.

“You’re cold,” was all she could manage.

He winced and pulled away, and this time she let him. Betty wrapped her hands around the mug, the warmth searing through her skin. She gnawed on her lip as she watched him walk away. Perhaps she’d committed some unforgivable faux pas, to comment on his temperature. A reminder that they were so different. Or perhaps …

She turned back to her coffee and forced herself to take a drink. The heat was a comfort against the sleep that clawed at her eyes. The longer she was awake the more her injuries throbbed. Betty tried to remember the herbs she’d packed two nights ago until she remembered, with a pang of regret, that her bag had been destroyed in the fight. It was a sacrifice she’d made to save her sister, one she’d make again in a heartbeat. It was a pity, though. The bag had been the only gift from a father she’d never known.

Like a whisper Jughead reappeared at her side and she started. His hand darted out to steady her. Jughead let it rest on her side, the coolness a welcome balm against the fiery pain of her side. When she saw why he’d left, she couldn’t help but laugh. 

“It matches your couch,” she said softly. 

Her hands traced the terrible knit of the blue and gold sweater he’d put on, the pattern reminding her of old bowling alleys. He smiled at her, and Betty couldn’t help but thread her arms around him. Jughead sighed and pulled her closer.

“I thought I lost you last night,” he said. 

The words were a gentle purr against her head. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to be cocooned in the safety of his arms. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed being so close to him. How much she’d liked him.

“Me too,” she said softly.

A yawn escaped her. Jughead’s grip tightened around her and she felt an icy press against her forehead. Sleepily, she realized it was a kiss. Without an ounce of shame, she settled in against his chest and let his slow heartbeat sooth her racing mind. There were so many things left to do, so many pieces to put back together…

Jughead’s arm slipped under her legs and she felt like they were floating through the air. He set her down on the bed and then his weight disappeared from the mattress. Betty protested, half-intelligibly, and he chuckled. When he returned it was to tuck her into a thick blanket. She reached out for his hand and he let himself be pulled towards her as she drifted off.  
The last thing she knew before she was consumed by the waves of Hypnos was that Jughead had wrapped himself around her, never to let her go again.


End file.
